The Last Days of Krypton (15 page)

Xan City was a metropolis
of ghosts and ruins and forgotten lives. Aethyr drank in the lost wonders with her dark eyes and painted in details with the brush of her imagination.

After moving her camp into the city on the second day, she began her explorations in earnest, taking notes and capturing images for her own satisfaction, not for any stuffy department of historical studies back at the Academy. Most people were content to reread old records, without having any desire to touch and see and smell what Krypton had been like during its violent yet glorious days.

The ancient warlord had constructed and armored his blocky watchtowers and graceful crystal minarets to withstand any attack from outside enemies. The architecture was reinforced with heavy beams and arches. Yet even those defenses had not withstood the slow and inexorable assault of time. Crumbling roofs had slumped down; windows were shattered, leaving holes like the gaps in an old crone’s smile. Toppled, grandiose sculptures were so badly weathered that Aethyr could not tell what they had once represented.

Even so, with minimal rebuilding, she believed that Xan City could once again become a thriving population center. No one on Krypton would ever make the effort, of course; her race had lost the spark of ambition and progress. And so the dead city continued to fade into the dusts of memory.

The centerpiece of Jax-Ur’s capital was a vast plaza where smooth interlocked tiles remained set in place, impervious to weeds, weather, and even the low seismic tremblings that so often made the ground cringe. With breezes ruffling her short, dark hair, Aethyr thought she could hear the long-faded cheers—or screams—of the huge crowds that the warlord had commanded to attend him. In ancient lettering, Aethyr read the ominous name of this place: Execution Square.

In the middle of the plaza she paused to look at the remnants of an ancient statue, a towering figure carved of black stone. Its details had been scrubbed away by countless seasons and storms, but even damaged and worn the figure had an oppressive magnificence. Around the main figure, carved from softer stone, were five pale lumps showing only the faintest outlines of arms, bent legs, and bowed heads…defeated subjects kneeling before him.

She laughed aloud at the monolithic sculpture. “Behold, the great Jax-Ur, warlord of Krypton, destroyer of the moon Koron!” She bowed in a gesture of mock respect. “So this is all that remains of you, king of kings, mightiest of the mighty?”

According to Krypton’s legends, Jax-Ur had summoned the generals of all the armies he had defeated, commanding that they kneel before him. The conquered men had bent their knees here in the great square and sworn their fealty—after which Jax-Ur had executed them all anyway. “I will not tolerate defeated men as my generals,” he had said.

Back then, arrogant Jax-Ur had never dreamed his empire could fall. He had invincible armies. He had a hidden stockpile of nova javelins and had already demonstrated his willingness to use them. But even Jax-Ur failed in the end. Everything, it seemed to Aethyr, succumbed to history.

She could spend weeks here in Xan City, as long as her supplies lasted. She found a capped-over fountain, from which she managed to pump out fresh, sweet water. As she splashed her face and took a deep drink, she wondered if Jax-Ur himself had moistened his parched throat here. The very idea made the water taste more delicious.

Wandering among the ruins, poking into alcoves and collapsed structures, Aethyr found two yellowed skeletons. Would-be treasure hunters, she assumed. She had no way of telling how long they had rested here. The bones appeared to be gnawed and chipped, as if by serrated jaws. She scoffed at the remains, feeling no kinship with plunderers who would die empty-handed. Aethyr did not intend to leave Xan City without discovering something major.

During the broiling red heat of afternoon, she took shelter in the colonnaded ruins of what had once been an old temple. In the shadows she saw topaz-shelled beetles scuttling about, each the size of her hand. They lunged upon and devoured plump spiders, then disappeared back into crannies. Their clacking, chirping noises grew louder as the afternoon waned. The whole city must be infested with them. How ironic that a population of insects had conquered the remnants of a once-titanic empire.

Hearing a skittering sound, she saw two of the beetles approaching her cautiously, their antennae waving in the air. They opened and closed sawlike jaws. She crunched both of them under her heel, then smeared the ichor on the flagstones.

She went from building to building, most of which must have been dwellings. Other structures were silos and storehouses in which she found amazingly preserved food supplies. Though she could not make out the faded drawings on the labels, tonight she would treat herself to a feast that Jax-Ur himself might have eaten.

After Rao had set, she moved her camp over beside the pitted Jax-Ur statue in Execution Square. The warlord’s dominating presence made Aethyr feel secure, as if he would frighten away anything that might endanger her.

She built a fire, not so much for the warmth as for the glad comfort of the crackling flames. She opened the jars of food she had found, breaking ages-old seals and smelling the contents. One stewlike mixture was savory and piquant, flavored with spices totally unfamiliar to Aethyr. She dipped her finger into the sauce, tasted it, then heated the entire serving. Another container held some sort of pickled vegetable, but it was brown and bubbly and smelled foul. She tossed it into the corner of the fallen-down ruins, where it spilled against a broken fluted column.

She watched, both amused and fascinated, as four topaz beetles scuttled out of the shadows, startled by the noise of the clattering container. They returned to devour every scrap of the spoiled pickles. More and more beetles emerged from the shadows, waving antennae in search of their share of the food, before ducking back into shelter.

Strictly as a precaution, Aethyr gathered a pile of rocks and shards from the broken statues. Beneath the looming shadow of Jax-Ur, she looked again at the city’s towers, the broken windows, the randomly arranged alcoves and black balconies. Oddly, the very randomness seemed somehow calculated, a pattern that she could see only at the edge of her awareness.

She opened another container to find a smooth, sweet pudding with a sugary crust on top and chewy lumps inside. She ate it, enjoying every bite, though afterward her stomach felt heavy and her ears were filled with a slight buzzing. Perhaps the pudding was some sort of drug, a sensory-enhancement or thought-deadening substance. Feeling herself grow sleepy, she shook her head.

A lone beetle scuttled forward, as if its companions had dared it to make a foray in her direction. Aethyr picked up one of her rocks, aimed carefully, and smashed the beetle’s carapace. It let out a thin squeak as it died. Four other insects rushed forward and fell upon the carcass, ripping away the shining shell and eating the soft goo inside.

The buzzing in her ears grew louder, and Aethyr looked again at the fallen buildings, sweeping her gaze from thick towers to the remains of Jax-Ur’s palace. From here, she could make out shadow-enhanced carvings, geometric projections, and deep-cut alcoves. The placement of the windows and openings made no sense—until she stopped thinking of them as windows. Instead, she viewed them as a design, a code. As she looked back and forth, trying to decipher the letters or symbols, they finally made sense.

Musical notes.

She and her friend Lara had both studied ancient Kryptonian compositions, especially the pompous “Jax-Ur’s March.” According to legend, the warlord had demanded that the eponymous march be played at each of his appearances. Aethyr recalled the old notation and translated the notes. Fighting back a strange temptation to giggle, she began to hum and sway, making her finger follow along with the notes. Yes, she was sure of it.

Aethyr sat down, a little off-balance from the intoxicating dessert, and withdrew the small flute from her pack.

Five more beetles approached from different directions. Impatient, Aethyr killed them all with thrown stones, thereby providing a cannibalistic feast for another batch of beetles.

She placed the flute to her lips, concentrated, and played the thin, piping tune. Fumbling with the melody at first, she stopped and wiped her lips, which felt numb and swollen. This time when she played “Jax-Ur’s March,” the clear music pierced the silence of the ruins. In response, as if she had awakened them, the topaz beetles began to chirp a thrumming song of their own.

Aethyr was sure she sensed something shift deep beneath the city, machinery awakening, ancient generators coming alive. Frowning, she played the melody again from start to finish. Yes, indeed, a rumble was coming from far below Execution Square, and it was not a seismic tremor. With her vision growing annoyingly fuzzy from the drugged dessert, she blinked repeatedly and looked around the square, hoping to see something out there.

The carefully laid flagstones were marked with faded colors, large geometric patterns across the expanse where crowds would have gathered. Columns and sculptures stood in random places around the perimeter, and as Aethyr looked at them from her new perspective, she noted that these objects were not mere decorations or ornaments. The hollow stones, embedded metal plates, and ancient hanging tubular chimes could all serve as simple yet ser viceable musical instruments. And each object bore a marking, a camouflaged musical note, now that she knew to look for it. Viewed from near the central statue, she could see they were laid out in the order of the melody.

What would happen if she played the famous march with the instruments Jax-Ur himself had hidden here?

She picked up a still-burning wooden stick from her campfire and strolled unsteadily over to the metal plate, which was subtly marked with the first note in the march. Along the way, she stomped on two more beetles. One actually scratched her ankle with its sharp black legs and she kicked it away, concentrating on her new quest. She pondered the arrangement of the strange and antique musical instruments.

She struck the first object like a gong, and as the note slowly faded, she ran to the next, a hollow stone, and hammered the second note. Moving over to a cylindrical chime, she smashed out the third note. Slowly and ponderously—but without mistakes—Aethyr played music that had not been heard here for more than a thousand years.

The sound beneath the ground grew louder, building to an engine’s roar. Crystals embedded in the long-abandoned towers started to glow in the night. Aethyr stood awestruck. Astonishment flushed away the ringing in her ears and the numbness in her thoughts.

Now phosphorescent lights began to glow in the weathered flagstones of the area, illuminating distinct though faded circles randomly distributed around the broad area; each circle was more than four meters wide. Eighteen of them.

The glowing rings started to vibrate, and the circles split in half along a neat line that cut along the diameter. The circular plates were hidden trapdoors, sealed for untold centuries, and the halves swung downward. Each open hole now revealed a shaft that was lit from beneath by stuttering, weak green light. Eighteen hidden pits right in the middle of Jax-Ur’s Execution Square.

Squadrons of ravenous beetles squeaked and whistled, then beat a hasty retreat to their hiding places. Aethyr ignored them.

Stagnant air and curling steam wafted up from long-closed pits. Careful to keep her balance, Aethyr peered down into the nearest circular opening. This treasure was worth far, far more than anything she had ever seen in her life.

Lara contacted her parents in
Kandor to announce that she and Jor-El were going to get married. In the background of the screen, young Ki yelled teasingly, “I knew it! I knew it!”

Lor-Van seemed about to burst with pride, though her mother voiced reservations. “Don’t rush into something you can’t undo. What if Jor-El is found guilty?”

“Jor-El is Jor-El,” Lara said firmly. “I love him, and I know he’s a good man, regardless of what the Council says.”

Her father tried to console her, hearing the worry she could not quite cover up in her voice. “We know Jor-El as well. We can’t believe the terrible things they say, and yet the evidence…. You yourself were there.”

“Yes, I was, and I saw the accident. And I still stand by Jor-El.”

Her parents looked at each other in the image screen and simultaneously came to the same conclusion. Lor-Van said, “Then you have our support, Lara. We will be there for you.”

Ora hesitated. “I assume the wedding will take place soon? Jor-El’s hearing…”

“It will be as soon as I can manage it. Trust me!”

Before they ended the communication, her parents shared their own news, that they had begun exhaustive preparations for their most ambitious project yet: to adorn an entire administrative spire with complex friezes and colorful crystalsilk weavings. Lara was excited to hear their descriptions, but her concentration strayed back to helping Jor-El.

Even with the components of the destroyed seismic scanner spread out on the grounds and catalogued, Jor-El still couldn’t determine what had gone wrong, and he worked obsessively to find out. Even though it would not change the guilt the Council no doubt intended to pin on him, still he needed to know. He called up his blueprints, recalculated every possible light angle. Though he could not duplicate Donodon’s technology, he even built another prototype of the red sun generator, which operated perfectly at up to three times its designed capacity. It made no sense.

Outside in the afternoon sunshine, they worked together on the problem. Though Lara had an artistic rather than a technical background, she insisted on helping him. “I can’t match you in the theoretical arena, but every small task I take out of your hands gives you more time and energy to devote to clearing your name.”

Jor-El, however, knew it wouldn’t be enough. He needed a much more powerful ally if he were to have any hope of changing the Council’s decision.

Commissioner Zod arrived unannounced at the estate five days after the death of Donodon. Jor-El came forward, feeling a knot in his stomach. He could not interpret the Commissioner’s motives; at times he seemed to support Jor-El, while other times he seemed intent on destroying him. “Do you have news from the Council?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Zod waved his hand casually. “They take an interminable amount of time to do anything. Don’t expect a decision soon.”

Lara remained close at Jor-El’s side, suspicious. “Then why did you come here, Commissioner?”

“Why, to help you plan your defense at the trial. You need my assistance. You must know that I am one of your staunch supporters.”

Jor-El couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He didn’t know any such thing. Though he respected the man for his single-mindedness, he had always disagreed with Zod’s entrenched attitude against progress. “That’s not like you, Commissioner. As you so pointedly reminded the Council, you warned me time and again about uncontrolled technology. It was my invention that caused this disaster.”

The other man shrugged. “Yes, and if I could spin the planet backward and reverse time, I would urge you never to build your dangerous device. But it is too late for that. We must put the past behind us.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you are on our side, Commissioner,” Lara said. She watched the man closely, trying to figure out what political advantages he saw to helping Jor-El.

Zod scrutinized Lara, as if trying to fit her into the equation alongside Jor-El. As if admitting a terrible mistake, he said, “When Donodon was killed, I had an epiphany. When I faithfully censored dangerous technologies to keep Kryptonians from hurting each other, I failed to imagine that we might need to protect ourselves from outside enemies. We may be a gentle and peaceful race, but the rest of the galaxy is not so harmless. Outsiders have noticed us now, and you have a better chance of saving Krypton than anyone else. But the Council doesn’t realize it.” Zod sighed heavily. “I fear the time is going to come when our world needs your genius, Jor-El. It would be a mistake to lock you away. I intend to speak on your behalf at the trial, for the good of Krypton.”

Jor-El looked down at the carefully labeled components spread out across the lawn. “There may be more to this mystery. I just found a foreign residue that seems to be some sort of unstable high-energy chemical. As near as I can tell, it is the same concentrated substance I use to launch my solar-probe rockets. I don’t know how it could have gotten into the seismic scanner, but I intend to run further analyses to identify the compound. That may be the key. What if someone tampered with the device? The explosion might not have been an accident.”

Zod appeared troubled. “Intriguing. It is best if you give me those samples, Jor-El. If there is indeed some suspicious contamination, then
you
cannot be the one to analyze it. The Council will never believe you didn’t plant this so-called proof yourself.”

“Jor-El would never do that,” Lara said.

“Of course he wouldn’t.” Zod gave a meaningful shrug. “On the other hand, the device should never have exploded, either. Let me take your samples back to Kandor. I will have my own experts study the chemical signature. You are not alone in this, Jor-El.”

Jor-El nodded slowly in reluctant agreement. “That would probably be best.”

The Commissioner turned, looking behind the large estate buildings as another floating vessel approached, this one guided by the burly mute Nam-Ek. On the craft’s open flatbed, large objects were covered with thick cloth, draped and shapeless. As if afraid of being overheard, Zod lowered his voice. “I have brought you something, Jor-El—something you must keep hidden for the time being.”

Jor-El looked at Lara, then back at the Commissioner. “What is it?”

Nam-Ek brought the floating vehicle and its bulky cargo over to where his master stood. With a flourish, Zod removed the tarpaulin to reveal large components, engines, computer systems, and sleek blue-and-silver sections of hull plating. “My Commission team members carefully disassembled the alien’s starship, but it is far too valuable to ignore. Regardless of the Council’s fears, I simply could not allow Donodon’s ship to be ruined.”

Jor-El came forward, breathing quickly. “You kept the components intact? I heard you announce to the Council—you said you had destroyed it.”

“The Council doesn’t need to know.” He smiled thinly. “Someday, Krypton will know the wisdom in this—I know you can see it already.”

Jor-El brought Lara forward. “His navigation system, his database of planets, his starship engines. We can do
so much
with this!”

“Unless the Council confiscates it again,” Lara warned.

“We will just have to keep them from finding out.” Zod rolled his eyes. “I cannot bear to leave such a technological treasure in
their
hands, can you? Until this distraction is over with, we must keep these components safely hidden. I trust that sooner or later we will need you to understand those starship systems, Jor-El. Someday I may ask you to build a whole fleet of Kryptonian space vessels to defend our planet. Whom else can I trust?”

Zod walked across the lawn with the big-shouldered mute matching his every step, and Jor-El followed him. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “My Commission offices in Kandor are not safe from inspection. Is there a place that we can hide the craft here?”

“I could haul it into my main research building and get to work even before my inquisition….”

Zod shook his head. “Too obvious, and too dangerous. We need a place where no one will think to look.”

Jor-El turned in a long slow circle, and finally his gaze rested on the prominent tower with its spiraling pearlescent walls. He paced around the perimeter of the structure, running his palm along the smooth wall, tapping and searching for any indication of an entrance. To Jor-El the enigmatic structure symbolized all the undiscovered things that remained in the universe.

“A long time ago, my father said I would know when to open the tower, when I would make use of what’s inside. I can’t think of a better time than now.” As he tapped with his knuckles, he found a patch that seemed to be made of a different sort of material, thinner, like an eggshell. “Here. We could get mallets and construction hammers from one of the work sheds.”

But Nam-Ek simply balled a huge fist and swung, not even wincing as his hand impacted the wall. The pearlescent barrier shattered, and shards tinkled down to expose a doorway wide enough for two men to stand in side by side—wide enough for the small spaceship.

Inside, a milky-rose light bathed the tower’s main room: red sunshine filtered through the translucent wall. Years ago, before he’d sealed the structure, Yar-El had set up a pristine laboratory with alcoves, tables, equipment—everything ready for use. Jor-El was delighted with the discovery.

When Nam-Ek had unloaded the dismantled starship components inside the secret tower laboratory, Zod looked at the strange objects with keen interest, then stepped back out of the tower. “Do you have construction resin? We should seal the opening again for the time being, so that the ship remains hidden. I do not want you to work on it…not yet. We need to take care of the Council first.”

As a loyal citizen, Jor-El didn’t like keeping secrets from the legitimate government, but he certainly understood why this was necessary. The Kryptonian Council’s obstructionist attitudes could well bring about the downfall of Krypton—in more ways than one. “Yes, I can keep it safely hidden…for now.”